It's All Your Fault
by kabensi
Summary: Quinn starts out senior year with a mohawk and a motorcycle. Faberry. IN PROGRESS.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: This was inspired by a gorgeous image of Quinn with a pink mohawk that teadalek posted on tumblr. The title's from the Pink song of the same name.

_It's all your fault_  
><em>You called me beautiful<em>  
><em>You turned me out<em>  
><em>And now I can't turn back<em>  
><em>I hold my breath<em>  
><em>Because you were perfect<em>  
><em>But I'm running out of air<em>  
><em>And it's not fair<em>

* * *

><p>The machine between her legs suddenly cuts off into silence and it's kind of poetic, the power she has to bring it to life only to render it quiet, just as easily.<p>

She wishes she weren't here, though. She'd rather be taking her new favorite toy for a ride out of town, maybe toward Chicago or something.

Instead, though, she's here.

She tugs the helmet off and hasn't even dismounted the Virago when Jacob Ben Israel shoves a microphone in her face.

"Quinn Fabray, rumor has it you joined a lesbian biker gang over the summer and plan to storm Washington for the right to marry."

She runs one hand over her pink mohawk, looking over her aviators into one of the sideviews to make sure her hair hasn't been totally flattened. "I just want to get through senior year."

"Yet, you don't deny that you've embraced the Sapphic sisterhood?"

"Why, do you have pictures?" She has both feet on the ground, now. Jacob's still ridiculously short.

"Are... are there pictures to be seen?"

"If I promise to show them to you, will you make sure no one touches my bike?" She turns and saunters toward the school.

There's no point in waiting for an answer, because she's pretty sure he passed out.

In the hall, she can feel everyone's eyes on her and is particularly aware of the fact that a good percentage of the eyelines are aimed directly at her ass, even though they try to look away before she can see them. People seem afraid of her, a lot like they did when she wore the red and white uniform.

She prefers it this way.

"Damn, Quinn." Puck falls in step with her and almost walks into three people because he's too busy trying to get a peek at what's under her open leather jacket. "You're really making me hope what I heard isn't true."

"And what is that?" She asks, removing her sunglasses and hooking them in the ripped vee of the black t-shirt she's wearing.

"That you can't find an identity of your own, so you're stealing mine." Santana's on her other side and she's much better at multi-tasking, because she manages to check Quinn out without any potential interpersonal collisions. "It's a good look on you, though. Just don't try to fuck Britts and we'll be fine."

"Yes, it's true and no, I don't plan to bang your girlfriend." She stops at her locker, but she keeps her eyes trained down to the end of the hall where Rachel stands with Finn. "Kind of have my sights on someone else."

All three of them watch as Rachel pushes herself up on her toes to fix Finn's collar.

Santana scoffs and shakes her head. "The least he could do is build her a step ladder."

"I don't think he knows how," Puck offers. "When we had the option in wood shop, he built a spice rack for his mom."

"You think they've done the nasty, yet?" Santana asks. "Because I don't even know how that would work."

"Shouldn't you be going down on your girlfriend in a closet, somewhere?" Quinn shoots at the cheerleader next to her.

Puck whistles. "Shit, what happened to you this summer? You're totally ranking high on my badass meter."

Quinn glares at him, "If that's some kind of code for a boner, I will break it off."

"If that's what it takes to get you to touch- Ow, you're pinching my arm."

The bell rings and everyone scatters toward the first class of the year. Quinn somehow managed to have her free period scheduled first thing in the morning and she wonders if that means she'll be able to sleep in on a regular basis.

"Quinn?"

She turns and there's Rachel. They're the only two people in the hall. She doesn't give any verbal reply, she just offers a raised eyebrow.

"May I walk with you?"

"Yeah, sure. I'm heading to 104."

"So am I. I'm not sure what I'll do with a study hall, first thing in the morning."

"Catch up on sleep," Quinn suggests.

"It's senior year, I feel like I should bide my time better than that." Rachel's quiet for a moment, but Quinn's sure it's just a lead in to more talking. She's right. "Quinn? I think it's great. That you've... embraced who you are."

"And, who is that, exactly?" She knows what Rachel means, but she can't pass up any opportunity to put her on the spot.

"Well, people are saying you're a lesbian. And I've tried to correct them and explain that the Kinsey scale actually has plenty of room for variation. While it's entirely possible for you to identify as a Kinsey six, you may also be more like me and fall somewhere in the middle."

As cool as Quinn has been all morning, this one single statement has her tripping over her own boot. She catches herself on the door frame to the classroom. "In the middle, you said?"

"I'm around a two point four. Predominantly heterosexual, but more than incidentally homosexual," Rachel rattles off because, of course, she has it memorized. "Granted, I don't have much practical experience with the same sex, but the scale takes into account things like emotional attraction and being open to possibilities."

"So, what you're saying is, Finn should be worried when you head off to college." Quinn drops into a seat at one of the desks and Rachel's left with the option to sit next to her or all the way in the back.

Rachel chooses the seat next to her without any other consideration. Likely because she can't just leave Quinn's statement hanging between them. "Finn and I both realize that we may not even be together after graduation. If we were to still be dating, I wouldn't cheat on him, though."

"And there goes your college experience."

"There would still be plenty of other things to occupy my time."

"Sure. You'd just be giving up your chance to advance to a Kinsey four or whatever."

"You don't score points for activities. Well, not directly."

While Rachel's caught up in that thought, Quinn asks for a hall pass and stays away for the remainder of the class period.

She wants to make sure no one touches her bike.


	2. Chapter 2

Maybe she kind of wishes she'd stayed in class with Rachel. But the whole strategy in getting someone to miss you is to leave them wanting more, right?

As if she has a strategy.

Mostly, she just wants a cigarette.

She leans against the side of the building, the Yamaha in clear view, as she digs a pack of Camels out of her jacket pocket. She knows she shouldn't even bother, because Rachel will hate it. But it's part of the image.

Plus, it relaxes her.

Before she can even light the damn thing, it's snatched out of her fingers and thrown on the ground.

"Gotta tell you, Q, this was not what I expected from you." Sue Sylvester eclipses the sun that's peeking around the clouds overhead. "Sure, I awaited your eventual rebellion in the form of a piercing or an ironic tattoo of a pseudo-celebrity, I even have a bet that you'll snap and set fire to the school."

"_All warfare is based on deception_." Quinn crosses her arms and rests one foot against the wall. "I'm not really in a position to employ the Attack By Fire. I'm still at the Laying Plans stage."

"Ah, _The Art of War_. That's the only art I want to see in schools." Sue mirrors Quinn's stance, folding her own arms over her chest. "It seems the soldier has become the general to her own army of one. Lonely, isn't it?"

What's funny is, Quinn knows the question isn't intended as put down. "It's necessary."

"It really is a tragedy you've lost your sense of school spirit, Fabray."

"I just found a different focus."

"So I've heard."

Quinn waits for the verbal smackdown, but there isn't one. She's actually unnerved by the lack of it and finds herself looking past the cheerleading coach at her bike, just for something to occupy her mind in the moment.

Sue turns her head to follow Quinn's gaze. "Ah, that takes me back to my time with the Hell's Angels. The open road, the widespread violence." The woman turns back around to face Quinn. "Probably similar to your summer riding with the Dykes on Bikes."

There it is. Kind of. It's still not even a serious blow. "I have no affiliation to any particular club, at this time."

"Well, you always have been a lone wolf, even when you're surrounded by other people."

It's really disturbing how Sue Sylvester knows her so well.

The bell rings and Quinn excuses herself. "Have to get to class."

"_Feign disorder and crush him._ Whoever he is."

As much as Quinn has absolutely zero interest in re-joining Cheerios, she's nostalgic for it, in this moment. "Thanks, Coach."

"I hope it's that greasy-curled vest-jockey," she hears just before the door shuts behind her.

The halls are packed, once again, and she moves with the sea of students to get to the other end of the hallway. When she rounds the corner, the population thins out a little. In fact, people are scattering.

And then she sees why.

She's ten feet away from two mulleted jocks carrying slushies.

There's the option to run, but that seems pointless. Plus, it's the coward's way out. And she's trying this new thing where she doesn't give a shit. So, she stands her ground.

And tries to buy time.

"Okay, look. At least let me take this jacket off, first."

It's enough to make them pause. "Why should I let you do that?" says the first guy. Quinn thinks maybe his name is Rick.

"Because it's expensive and if you ruin it, then I have to take you to small claims court."

MaybeRick sneers at her. "Yeah, right."

"You want to take that chance?"

MaybeRick's buddy shrugs. "Dude, I don't need that. Maybe you should let her." It's not until she notices that only one of the jocks is aiming for her. The other one's focused on someone next to her.

And that someone is Sam Evans.

"Yeah, okay. Take it off," says MaybeRick.

Quinn shrugs her way out of the leather jacket. There's no chance to give any kind of signal to Sam, so she hopes he'll just follow her lead.

She throws the coat over MaybeRick's head and punches him in the stomach. Sam's totally on her wavelength, because he tackles the second jock around the middle and sends him crashing backward into the lockers.

Both slushies spill all over the floor, red and blue mixing together to make purple and neither jock can get their footing on the slick surface.

She grabs Sam's wrist and pulls him with her down the hall and around the corner, where they duck into an empty classroom.

"Holy crap, that was amazing. We were, like, Wonder Twins. Without rings." Sam leans back against a desk as he catches his breath. "I almost didn't recognize you."

"I thought you left."

"I did. But I'm back."

"Where'd you go?"

"Places."

"Is being a cryptic asshole a skill you learned while you were gone or was it something you've always known and just kept to yourself?"

"Wouldn't you like to kn- Ow, you can pinch really hard."

She stops pinching, but doesn't let go of his arm, because she pulls him in for a hug. At the beginning of the summer, when Sam told her he was leaving, it had been hard for her, because he was one of the few people she actually considered a real friend. She never felt like he judged her for anything. Except that time she cheated on him. But they'd gotten past that when life had taken a nasty turn for the Evans family.

"You know, people might stop aiming their slushies at you is you stop wearing a shirt with a target on it."

Sam pulls back from the hug to look down at his t-shirt. "It's not a target, it's The Who." He looks over Quinn's wardrobe. "Anyway, when'd you start dressing like a manga character? It's pretty awesome." He rubs a hand over her hair, but she ducks away.

"What the hell is manga?" She smooths out her mohawk.

"The backwards comics, remember? You look like you could hunt werewolves or something."

"Werewolves don't exist."

"Actually, Ohio has one of the highest instances of werewolf sightings in-"

"Up until thirty seconds ago, I really missed you."

Sam smiles at her. "We kind of kicked ass back there."

"Yeah, we did."

"So... can I be your sidekick?"

It's right about now that Quinn realizes they're in the astronomy classroom, which makes sense, since it seems to be the place where Sam always attempts to elevate their relationship status. This time it's just a little... weird. Or maybe less weird than a proposal at seventeen. "Does that mean you're going to start wearing tights?"

"Not unless you do."

"I don't know, it might be worth it." Superhero apparel aside, she really could use an ally. "Walk me to class?"

He nods. "Hey, what about your jacket?"

"What about it?"

"I thought it was expensive."

"Nah, I paid twenty bucks for it at the thrift store."

"So, you lied."

"I saved us."

"We both saved us."

"Yeah, so, what size tights do you wear?"

"Remember when you saved us?"


End file.
